Better Than Okay
by Hopeful Writer
Summary: Willow takes Tara home to meet her parents. W/T


_**BETTER THAN OKAY**_

By: Hopeful Writer

"Stop worrying."

"I—I'm not—"

"Stop worrying."

"But—"

"Stop. Worrying." Willow leaned forward and took both of her girlfriend's hands in hers. "This isn't a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal," Tara argued. "I'm the first girl you're bringing home to your parents."

"So?"

"So it's… different. Knowing that your daughter's gay and actually… seeing it."

"Tara." Willow's smile had sadness around the edges. "They're not going to care."

"You're probably right, but it's still—"

"No. Tara, they're not going to _care_." Sadness morphed slowly into bitterness. "They're not going to love you or freak out or have a giant epiphany about my sexuality because that would involve giving a shit, which they most certainly don't." Tara opened her mouth to say something else, maybe to try and argue, but Willow cut her off. "So stop worrying, okay? We'll go, we'll eat, we'll make awkward small talk, then we'll come home and… do more fun things." She winked at Tara (who blushed… of course), then ruined it by adding, "Like dance naked in a fire pit."

Tara hesitated, the nodded, retrieving her art history book and throwing herself back into her studies, even as nerves and indecision played at the corners of her mind.

* * *

"You know, we don't have to go," Willow said suddenly.

Tara arched an eyebrow at her. "Sweetie, we're already in front of the house."

Pet names were still relatively new, and it made Willow smile, but she wouldn't be distracted from her mission. "If we just keep walking, they'll never know. We could call from the payphone on the corner, tell them we're sick. Or that we were in an accident. Or… or maimed! Yeah, a good maiming should get us out of lunch for a while! Or—"

"Willow!"

"Alright, no maiming. But sick—"

"We're n—not lying to your parents about our health. I thought you weren't w—worried about this."

Tara's stutter pulled Willow up short and made her realize just how nervous Tara was. "I'm not!" she protested. Tara didn't say anything. "I'm not," Willow said again, less defensively. "Not worried. I just… I just don't want to go in there."

If anyone could understand not wanting to see family, it was Tara. But one of them had to be strong, so she took Willow's hand, squeezed, and said, "I know. But we're already here. W—what was it you said? We'll go, we'll eat, we'll make awkward small talk, then we'll go home and do more fun things."

Willow smiled despite herself and squeezed Tara's fingers back. "Okay. But I'm holding you to that, missy."

Tara grinned. "With pleasure."

Willow rang the doorbell, and Tara wasn't sure why that surprised her. A tall, scattered-looking man with grey hair and Willow's eyes answered. "Hi, Dad." Willow's voice was just on the adult side of petulant, but Ira Rosenberg seemed oblivious to that.

"Hello, Willow." He stooped slightly to give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.

His eyes drifted to the woman standing next to her. "This is Tara. My girlfriend."

"Yes, lovely to meet you."

He extended his hand, and Tara took it. His handshake was firm and brisk. "It's n—nice to meet you too, sir." She bit down on her lip hard. She didn't want Willow's parents to think she was a stuttering freak.

Sheila emerged from the kitchen. "Ah, Willow. Your father was wondering how much longer you'd stand outside before you came in. Eight minutes and thirty-six seconds, what did I tell you, Ira?"

Willow's body, if it was possible, got even tenser when her mother came out. "Mom," she said neutrally. Tara squirmed, feeling the shift in the atmosphere, and Willow immediately felt guilty. She needed to relax, if only for Tara's sake. "How are you?"

"Busy busy," Sheila said breezily. "I'm off to Uganda tomorrow to study the tribal response to the introduction of acupuncture into their society."

"That's great. I'm glad you could fit us in."

"It was tough." Willow's sarcasm was lost on Sheila. "We had to agree to a post-dinner drink with the Bergmans. You know how I hate late nights." Willow bit her lip on a number of responses and was spared answering when Sheila turned to Tara and said, "You must be Tamara."

Tara's eyes flew to Willow, who let out an angry breath. " _Tara_ , Mom. Her name is _Tara_."

"Of course. Your girlfriend."

"Yes." The clipped word was challenging, but it might as well have been in Klingon for all it registered with Sheila.

"You know, Peter Zuckerman just sent me a very interesting article about Vermont's new law allowing same-sex civil unions and the societal ripple effects it will have."

"Really?" Ira asked, following her back through the kitchen to the formal dining room. "Does it talk at all about the inherent conflicts with the Defense of Marriage Act?"

Willow just stood there for a minute, Tara next to her, breathing in and out, forcing herself calm. "Okay?" Tara murmured.

Willow gave her a huge fake smile. "Don't I look okay?"

Tara glanced quickly at the kitchen door, then chanced a small, chaste kiss. "Not even a little bit. But I can fix that later."

Willow's head jerked up at the implied promise, and she grinned, feeling a little lighter for the first time since they'd set up this stupid lunch. "Better than okay," she corrected, finding Tara's fingers and lacing hers through them. "Everything you do is better than okay."

Tara blushed. "I love you."

Willow gave her a longer, deeper kiss and whispered, "I love you too," as she pulled back. She half-heartedly tugged Tara's hand. "I guess we need to go in there. Not that they'd notice if we didn't."

"At least your mom seemed to be supportive. I mean, she was reading about civil unions. She was taking an interest."

Willow laughed without humor. "Sure, she was."

"Will…"

"Come on. Let's get this over with."

* * *

It was the longest hour and a half of Willow's life, and that included the time she'd been kidnapped by Spike _and_ the sex ed class she'd taken sophomore year. Tara tried to engage her in conversation a few times on the bus ride home, but Willow remained moody and contemplative, clinging to Tara's hand so tightly her fingers were going numb.

When they finally made it back to Tara's dorm, the dam broke. "Did either of them ask you a single question about yourself? Did they even ask how you were doing? Or if you liked the food they so graciously ordered in? Or if you gave a damn about acupuncturists in Uganda?"

Tara moved closer, pulled her into a half-hug, their fingers still interlaced. "They asked me if I wanted water or juice with lunch," she offered.

Willow's giggles were high and tight and just bordering on hysterical, so Tara pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. "It wasn't so bad," she said.

Willow shook her head against Tara's lips. "No. I told you it wouldn't be. They don't care that I'm gay, Tara. They don't care that I'm dating you. They just… don't care about me. I swear, they didn't have me so they could have a child. They had me so they could study me. I can't tell you how many papers they wrote about child development when I was growing up. The things I did… they had nothing to do with me as an individual. Not to them. They were just milestones and phases. Checkboxes on the path to life."

Tara finally unlaced their fingers so she could wrap Willow in a real hug. "I'm sorry you had to grow up like that."

Willow pulled back so abruptly that they almost knocked heads. "Oh! Look who I'm saying all this to. You had a _way_ worse childhood than I did. God, I'm being so selfish, complaining about this when your—"

"Willow, no! It's not a competition. There are lots of different kinds of bad childhoods. Just because you weren't beaten doesn't mean you don't get to be upset about it."

"Still, I'll bet you'd have given anything to just be ignored."

"S—sure. But…" Tara looked away, took a breath, looked back, "But be honest. How much were you k—kind of hoping they would freak out? Just b—because it would show they c—c—cared."

The tears hit Willow so unexpectedly that she didn't have time to fight them. Tara caught her in her arms and pulled her close again, murmuring soft words into her hair. "Once my mom tried to burn me at the stake," Willow sobbed. "I think that was the only time we ever had a conversation where she listened to what I was saying."

Tara knew she'd get the rest of that story later. She pulled back and scrubbed Willow's cheeks, then kissed her, slow and deep, a cleansing kiss. A healing kiss. "If they don't want to know you," she said firmly, "that's their loss. Because you are definitely a person worth knowing. Trust me. I'm an authority on all things Willow."

Her eyes were still shiny and her nose was red, but Willow had never looked so beautiful to Tara. "If I'm worth knowing, it's because of you." Then she made a face. "Oh, God, that was so corny. Being desperately in need of love has reduced me to Mushy Sap Girl."

"I like Mushy Sap Girl," Tara interrupted before Willow could get a full rant going. "You're not the only one who's desperately in need of love."

"Well, it's a good thing you found me then."

"Good thing."

They took a moment to just look at each other, not caring if it was cheesy or mushy or sappy. Then Willow's soft smile grew wicked, and Tara's eyebrows rose in question. "I was promised something more fun than lunch with my parents."

"That's right," Tara mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I vaguely remember you saying something about a fire pit."

Willow smirked. "Maybe we can find something a little less… burn-y."

Tara took a step closer, slid her hands around Willow's waist, ran her fingers just under the hem of Willow's shirt. "I also remember you saying something about dancing naked…"

"Now you're talking."


End file.
